


Deliver Me Sanity

by RougueShadowWolf



Series: 15 Minutes [249]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Stiles Stilinski, Creature Stiles Stilinski, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Drag Queens, Good Peter Hale, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 18:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougueShadowWolf/pseuds/RougueShadowWolf
Summary: Stiles’ first instinct when he walked into the room was to run, to run the hell out of there, and pray that the apex predator wouldn’t catch and kill him. However. then the stench of misery caught his attention, and it forced him to be brave, which seemed to be exactly what Peter Hale needed at the time.





	Deliver Me Sanity

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Hall of stories, please take care and stay safe. Oh, and keep out of the shadows, there are dark things lurking withim them. 
> 
> This round of 15Minute stories started back in the early days of August, but due to the lack of functioning internet I was tasked with sharing these stories once home, but while I thought I had done it, I had not. It wasn’t until ItAlmostWorked! caught on to my mistake while seraching for a couple of stories, and so now I’m trying to find the time to upload them. Wish me luck!
> 
> Alright, everyone familiar with this series, make your marry little way down to A Slight Change, for now I shall start telling the newcomers what this series is and what to expect. So, everyone new to this series, please know that the story you are about to read is written in 15minutes. Each story in this series is a small payment to my wicked friends, and each of them makes a few wishes on what they wish their story to be and then I write it. Due to the time limit of 15minutes this story will not be a great one, and it will be full of mistakes and panic writing and so if you can’t handle bad grammar and typos run away now and be at peace. If, you are able to handle bad storytelling that is full of typos and horrible grammar, then you are welcome to make your way down to A Slight Change.
> 
> A SLIGHT CHANGE has come to play, and this change is a theme and the theme in this story is creature, and so ReadingIsLikeWellDry wanted a story where young Stiles (11 or 12 years old) is a supernatural creature, and he comes across comatos or catatonic Peter Hale, the Sheriff is an alcoholic, she also wanted a mention of drag queens of a trans character, and that’s all she gave me.
> 
> Greetings! So, I'm going to try and post the last stories of August 15Minutes, but no promises since my cat Minerva seems to think that every time I try and get this done means playtime, so I'm trying to play with her and post my stories. Wish me luck people!

He knows this isn’t healthy, and Stiles does understand that this wasn’t helping him deal with his grief, but knowing and doing something about it were two different things. Stiles had made attempts to stop, he really had, but for some strange reason he just seemed unable to stop.

Everyday after school when he couldn’t go to the McCall’s, he’d ride his bike across town to a familiar building that he’d started visiting once his mother was too unwell to stay at home. Everyday if Stiles wasn’t picked-up after school by his dad, and made to stay the rest of the day and sometimes the night at the Sheriff’s station, at times the entire weekend too, then Stiles would ride his bike across town to the place and room where his mother had drawn her last breath. On those rare weekends when Stiles couldn’t spend the weekend with Scott or when his dad wasn’t home, or forcing him to stay at the Sheriff’s station, Stiles would visit an either empty room or the person who was momentarily staying in the room his mom had stayed in until her death.

Whenever Stiles found someone staying in the room of his mother, he would approach this stranger cautiously regardless if they were conscious or unconcious, and once he grew comfortable with the person inhabiting the room that no longer held even a hint of his mother Stiles would start bringing cards and the occasional flower.Depending on the person, Stiles would adjust his approach and behaviour, if the person lay unconcious and unresponsive, Stiles would talk and talk while holding their hand, while if the person liked to do the talking he would listen as best he could to these strangers and their stories. Surprisingly often Stiles found himself reading to strangers, and if possible he would find the this soon not so much of strangers favourite book in the library so he could read it to them; however, if the person occupying the room of his mother, wasn’t able to communicate with him, then Stiles would do his best to find a book he imagined the in his mothers room reading as a child or as a young adult.

Stiles did his best totry and spark happy memories in these people doomed often to spend the last of their days inside the small room, like his mother had, and sometimes he did feel a degree of sorrow when he came over for a visit only to find the room empty once more.

Again, Stiles knew this wasn’t the healthiest way for him to handle the loss of his mother, or rather the complete loss of his familya and childhood, but Stiles just couldn’t stop.

Stiles would occasionally grow a little bit too fond of some of the guests, such as Larissa who had been and was his absolutly favourit. Larissa, or Lawrence as the people who didn’t know about Larissa called awesome person who hadn’t questioned why this strange kid came into his room to do his homework, and Larissa neevr pushed the ussue of why Stiles came over almost daily; and when Larissa drag queen friends began to question why this strange kid came over to visit one of their friends, Larissa had declared with a wink and a grin, `Obviously, he appreciates my sense of humor and sparkling personality. ´

Stiles had loved listening to Larissa’s stories, and had eagerly looked at all the pictures of drag queen that Larissa valiantly held on too even now that cancer had drawn his energy low and damaged the once healthy beauty that Larissa had once possessed. Watching a few of Larissa peformances had been entertaining and Stiles had marvelled at just how happy and full of life Larissa had been while she performed on stage, her sense of humour was sharp and entertaining to him. He’d absolutly loved listening to all the stories the other drag queens eagerly shared with him, and it had been during one of these storytimes that Stiles laughed out loud, a genuine laugh hadn’t slipped from him since the death of his mother, every laughed he’d mustered after her death much like his smiles had been fake, and so the sound and sensation had startled him and then broke him. Stiles had started crying almost hysterically after he’d laughed, and the drag queens had hurried to put on some music and closed the door so that no unwanted nurses came in to see what the noise was, and Larissa had moved him until he clinging on to this person he knew he would soon lose too; Stiles had cried all the tears he hadn’t dared to cry under the sad-eyes of an increasingly intoxicated man that was his father, his father who would drink or drink and cry himself to sleep whenever possible, and so Stiles had been doing his best to be brave for his grieving father.

It was Stiles who’d been there as Larissa’s time on earth ended, and it was Stiles who stood waiting for Larissa’s friends and broke the news that their friend had passed away. Stiles had known as he went home later that night, crying himself to sleep, that he should stop going to the room where he’d no watched on too many souls but he simply couldn’t.

Stiles missed Larissa _and_ the drag queens, and Stiles was tempted to call Miss. Phoenix almost daily, especially when he was stuck at home with his dad who was trying to drown his own sorrow in alcohol, but Stiles just didn’t have the courage to learn that the number Ms. Phoenix had given him was fake, and so he never did call Ms. Phoenix.

Making his way down the hall and towards the familiar room he hadn’t been able to visit for over two weeks, his dad had caught a cold and so Stiles was stuck staying at home to look after him, and even after his dad had gotten better Stiles had worried that he might still transfer the cold on the new and unfortunate soul inhabiting the room of his mother.

What Stiles knew about this new person was that it was a male, and a burn victim, that much he’d learned while hiding under the bed the day before his dad came home with a fever. This would be his first-burn victim, and so Stiles had been anxious about his own reaction towards this individual, he didn’t wish to have a bad reaction to seeing this stranger but feared he might; from listeing in on the nurses conversation he’d learned that the man had been horribly burned in a house fire, and that no one had visited the man since the fire and that had been almost a year-ago, possibly longer and now he was being moved to this floor because there was nothing more that could be done for the man.

Even though Stiles wasn’t walking into the room without some ideas on what to expect, since he’d done his research, he still had grave concerns about his own possible reactions once he laid his eyes on this stranger possibly covered in terrible burns.

Stiles had spent days reading on everything that had to do with burns, learning the differences between chemical burns and none-chemical burns. Stiles had learned about all the different degrees of burns, the damage they held and the level of flesh and nerve damaged expected. He learned that most often it wasn’t flames themselves that got you, but rather the smoke. He studied all the different treatments, even those highly questionable and expermiental ones. He learned as much as he could about the recovery process, going as far as to find books and blogs of people who had survived being burned. Stiles wasn’t as much fascinated by the subject as he was mentally preparing himself for what he would face.

Stiles didn’t like surprised, and hated being caught by surprise by anything, and so if possible he would prepare.

He’d gazed through pictures of burn victims, living and dead, and admittedly these images had made his already half-hazard sleeping patterns worse and when he did sleep they were full of fire and death; even after Stiles had armed his house with alarms but also a couple of more fire extinguishers, all of which he’d bought with his savings and without his father even noticing, Stiles still struggled to sleep.

Breathing in a shaky breath, Stiles opened the door to the small room that felt almost as familiar to him as his own bedroom now, Stiles did his best to wear a friendly smile as he stepped inside the room.

When the smell hits him, Stiles stumbles back in alarm, his heart hammering frantically inside his chest. His eyes darting every which way in search of every exit possible, and it takes everything in him not to shift then and there. Stiles hasn’t shifted in years, not since he was little and his mother would take him out into the woods and to the lake or the stream where he could play but also train; although he was the last member of his Mieczyslaw’s family, the last of their kind possibly, his mother had done her best as a human to help him explore being an otter, well, technically a wereotter, like a werewolf but an otter.

Being a wereotter had seemed cool to him as a child, but it wasn’t until later that he realized there wasn’t anything really cool about it. Sure, he could fully turn into a sea otter, but when on land he was easy prey due to how slow and clumsy he was while out of water, however, when Stiles was in the water in his otter-form he could swim his way out of danger easily enough. Being an wereotter wasn’t anything to write home about, sure, he had retractable claws and the stuff he could bite down on and break was impressive, and his hightened sense of smell had its uses.

Breathing in a shaky breath, weighing his options for his chances of escaping alive, Stiles catches on to the miserable smell of loneliness, anxiety, fear and oh so many other negative but not violent emotions that came from the unmoving form on his mothers bed.

Stiles might not know what sort of predator it is that is occupying his mothers room, but he does recognize it enough to tell him it’s the same sort of thing that Cora Hale had been, and that sparks his curiousity enough for him to sneak a look at the figure without crossing the tresshold. The otter in him is going absolutly nuts, as it tends to do whenever frightened, startled or unsure of its surroundings, and so Stiles has learned to ignore it well-enough to manage everyday life.

The smell of distress in the room was so potent that it almost made Stiles’ gag, he’s never smelled something like this before and finds himself wishing he never had. There’s a heavy layer of fear to be smelled too along side the emotional distress, but also confusion and loneliness that made him feel a degree of pity towards this were.

Stiles keeps an eye on the were, one he nos suspects by smell alone to be the same kind as Cora or even possibly related to her, and if this was a member of the Hale’s, well, that would change things.

Cora and him hadn’t been friends, mostly because Cora didn’t seem interested in making friends with the likes of him or Scott, but, they had talked whenever stuck working together in class and so on; they weren’t friends and maybe that was partly his fault, since she made his otter go nuts and so fearing he’d lose control he would do his best to avoid drawing her attention to him.

Thinking of Cora Hale, something most of their classmates had stopped doing, Stiles feels the familiar tug of regret, guilt and sadness in his heart.

As quietly as possible, so not to draw the attention of the apaex predator on the bed, Stiles heads for the patients chart.

`_Curiosity killed the cat, Mischief._ ´ Stiles swears he hears his mother say exhasperatedly, and he almost smiles at the memory of all the times his curiosity got him into trouble, like when he’d been a little and became curious about where the water disappeared too once drained from the bathtub.

`Peter Hale. ´ Stiles whispers without meaning too, his mind locking away information and medical terms into his head for later. Stiles senses the moment there’s a shift in Peter Hale, and the otter shrieks for them to flee now and never look back, but instead Stiles glances over at the unmoving form on the bed. The thing, the none-human side of Peter Hale, has gone still inside of Cora’s uncle and it feels like a cornered animal where it growls.

Swallowing down the fear that threatens to have him shiftling right then and there, Stiles does his best to appear braver than what he is.

`I – I remember you, ´ and Stiles does, one didn’t forget Peter Hale as easily as one forgot a toy given to you two Christmas’ ago.

`My dad arrested you a few times, he’d always complain about how you were way too reckless. Mom, said dad just forgot how it was to be young. ´ and Stiles doesn’t know why he’s telling the creature this, buthe does, taking one last look at the chart before placing it back where he’d found it.

`My dad is Sheriff Stilinsk, or as you probably remember him as deputy Stilinski, he arrested you once for breaking into our nextdoor neighbours house. Your sister Talia was furious with you, and dad almost felt bad about arresting you just because of how angry your sister was. ´ Stiles knows he should probably shut-up, and he should probably not sit his ass down in the familiar chair, but he ‘s not great at listening to his own advice.

`Oh, and my mom was Claudia Stilinski, I believe she used to be – briefly – you history teacher. Not to give you a big head or anything, but you were her favourite student, she used to say you had a flare for history that reminded her why she loved teaching it. ´ and this wasn’t a lie, his mother had a soft spot for Peter and because of that his dad probably did give Peter one too many warnings about trespassing on private properites and speeding.

`I never met you, your niece Cora and I, we, we were in the same class. ´ he leaves out the part about until the fire, but he decides to share a few of his memories about her, and eventually he moves over to things like his best friend and the adventures the two of them have been getting into, all the while Stiles keeps a nose on Peter or the things emotional well-being and when whatever the thing is settles down Stiles counts it as a win.

*****

It hadn’t taken Stiles all that long to narrow down the possibilities of what sort of a were-creatures the Hale’s might’ve been or were still, not when he no longer had to worry about his mothers reaction when it came to knowing there were were-creatures around that frightened his otter-half. Stiles had never told his mother about Cora or the few Hale’s he did come across, he’d been too afraid she’d demand their small family leave Beacon Hills and find a new home, she’d done it before and Stiles didn’t want to leave his best friend and so stayed quiet as a church mouse.

Once he was convinced that Peter was a werewolf, Stiles adjusted his treatment and interaction with Cora’s uncle to better serve Peter’s possible needs, sure, there he’d still suffered from doubt in the early days about whether or not he was right about the whole Peter Hale is a werewolf thing, since werewolves were pack creatures and accodring to his grandfathers journal leaving an injured packmate the way Peter had been left would’ve been a big no-no; so, yes, Stiles had his doubts about Peter being a werewolf because of how Derek and Laura Hale had just left him to die, but Stiles’ doubts were soon drained away when he began to see an improvement in Peter the more he showed genuine care and compashion towards Cora’s uncle; Stiles started out slowly by just holding Peter’s hand for a moment at the start of each visit, then again before leaving while promising he’d come back, and once Peter’s wolf stopped having a negative reaction to his presence and touch Stiles began to hold his hand longer.

When Peter or his wolf, possibly both began to show signs of being upset whenever Stiles missed a visit or two, and showed signs of unhappiness when Stiles had to cut their visits short, Stiles felt brave enough to started to comb Peter’s hair which made Cora’s uncle smell all content and relaxed, a smell that also bloomed out of the man when Stiles rubbed his feet the way Stiles’ had done to his mom before she turned violent and angry towards him.

Whenever Stiles managed to do something that made Peter smell satisfied and happy, it never failed to make him feel like he’d done something right and good in the world.

When Peter had squeezed his hand for the first-time, it had been a month after Stiles had started to visit Peter and show him the attention and care that his pack should’ve been there to do, Stiles had been as happy and excited as a child who knew that they were getting the one present they really wanted for Christmas. Stiles was quick to use Peter’s ability to squeeze his hand as a form of communication, one squeeze for no and two squeezes for yes, and soon enough he knew for certain that Peter was a werewolf; sure, the moment Stiles had asked the question, he’d smelled fear and panic erupt from Peter, and to calm Peter down Stiles broke his promise to his mother and let himself shift a little and tell Peter that he wasn’t the only were in the room.

Stiles used the squeeze-communication to learn that Peter’s favourite candy was Stiles favourite candy, and so he began to bring Peter some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, making sure to always give him one during his visits, and having Peter able to catch his attention when he was doing his homework and making mistakes helped him do better; it didn’t matter whether or not his dad was drinking or not, it was still difficult to get his dad to find the time to help him with his homework, and so having an adult who didn’t have to split his time with work or their own childes needs was nice and made Stiles feel a little less like a burden.

When Peter rolled his eyes at him for the first-time Stiles hadn’t felt insulted or even annoyed, what he’d felt was a sense of excitement and happiness, and when Peter’s facial muscles began to work on expressions, Stiles had been so excited and happy he’d accidentally flashed his eyes and popped his whiskers out. When Peter smiled at him, genuinely smiled at him for the first-time it wasn’t because Stiles had done some great thing or said something funny, it was just because Stiles had bought Peter his favourite coffee and cinnamon roll from Peter’s favourite café, both still nice and warm, and Stiles had really felt like he wasn’t some little bastard that ruined everyone’s lives at that moment.

Still, Stiles never thought that when on his sixteenth-birthday he’d hear Peter Hale speak to him, which was exactly what happened as Stiles walked into Peter’s room, carrying a couple of cups of coffee and a couple of cupcakes which he nearly dropped as the man sitting in his wheelchair smiled up at him and said in clear greeting, `Stiles. ´

All the crap that had happened that day, from waking-up to find his dad passed out on the couch after staying sober for almost two-years, to finding out Scott was sick again and Jackson Dickmore shoving him face-first into Stiles’ own locked causing him to have a nosebleed that had ruined Stiles’ favourite shirt and now he was wearing his slightly smelly spare shirt, not to mention his dad and Scott had both forgotten what day today was.

`Peter? ´ Stiles whispers in disbelief, his own lips drawing slowly into a smile.

`Stiles. ´ Peter says fondly, before swallowing once then twice, lifting his hand which has Stiles moving immediately. Stiles sets the coffee and baked goods on the small side-table before taking Peter by the hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaning down to scent his friend and tilting his head to the side to allow Peter to do the same to him.

`So, talking is a thing now. ´ Stiles beams at the older-male while making a note to himself to ask Ms. Phoenix to come over and give Peter another hair-cut, it wasn’t until Peter had started to trust him that Stiles had dared to call Ms. Phoenix; Stiles hadn’t told Peter what had made him call Ms. Phoenix since he didn’t want to upset Peter, but calling Ms. Phoenix it had helped Stiles not only reconnect with an awesome person who’d been more than happy to come over to give Peter a much needed shave and a haircut.

Peter gives him a stiff nod, then swallows not once but twice before speaking once more, his voice rough and unsteady form years of silence, `You smelled sad. ´

`Don’t worry about it. ´ Stiles hums softly, making a move to grab Peter’s coffee and cupcake. In the past, seven-months and two weeks ago, Stiles had to help Peter with drinking his coffee and eating whatever treats Stiles brought him, but these days Peter could do it all by himself and without making a mess of it.

`I worry. ´ Peter responds with a seriousness Stiles hadn’t experienced before, and it causes him to still for a moment.

`What’s wrong. ´ Peter rasps out, eyes glowing yellow for a moment.

With a sigh, Stiles hands Peter his coffee and cupcake, and Peter takes them but stays focused on Stiles as he grabs his own coffee and cupcake and takes his usual seat.

`Dad’s drinking again. ´ Stiles starts, there’s no point in denying it since Peter would soon smell the residue of Stiles dad’s alcohol consumption and bouts of vomiting, and Stiles doesn’t miss the glare in Peter’s eyes or the low growl that starts from deep within Peter’s chest.

`Don’t. ´ Stiles tells the werewolf, who huffs angrily but goes quiet with the whole growling, but Stiles can still feel just how unhappy Peter is with his dad.

`His job is stressful, ´ Stiles starts, avoiding eye-contact with Peter since he feared Peter would see the hint of bitter and sad tears in Stiles’ eyes, `and, well, a couple of days ago was the anniversary of my mom’s death and it always hits him hard. ´ this wasn’t a lie, because his dad often fell into a pool of gloom on the birthday of Stiles’ mother but also on the day when she’d passed away, not to mention on their wedding day.

`Excuses. Excuses. ´ Peter snarls before taking a sip of his coffee, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Stiles do the same.

`Whatever. It is what it is. ´ Stiles grumbles before taking his first bite of his cupcake.

`Shouldn’t be. ´ Peter counters sharply, and Stiles responds equally as harshly.

`What happened to you and your family, that shouldn’t have happened either, but it did. ´

Peter is startled a little by his response, and Stiles regrets what he’d said immediately.

`I’m sorry. ´ and Stiles is sorry, he shouldn’t take his anger, his sadness, his frustration on Peter since Peter hadn’t done anything to disappoint him, `I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just – I’m being a brat. ´

`Well, ´ Peter drawls out, and Stiles can’t help but wonder how Peter’s voice would sound once the roughness left him, it would probably be devilishly smooth because Peter did seem like a smooth bastard, `you are a child. ´ Stiles doesn’t miss Peter’s smirk.

`I’m sixteen, I’m almost a man. ´ Stiles protests overly dramatically, a small smile pulling at his lips now.

`Yes. Almost. ´ Peter hums, before taking another sip of coffee but the way his brows furrow for a moment tells Stiles that there’s more to come.

`Sixteen? ´ and there it was, and Stiles nods in answer to Peter.

`Not fifteen? ´ Peter questions, and he seems genuinely confused and it’s a delightful look on Peter’s face since it was one of those rare expressions of Peter that Stiles had only seen twice now.

`Not since 3.33 AM today. ´ Stiles explains, and Peter’s eyes widen at that.

`It’s your birthday? ´

Stiles nods in response, he really doesn’t want to make his birthday into a big thing, since his birthday hadn’t meant much in years.

`Happy Birthday, Stiles. ´ Peter’s voice is soft and warm, and it reminds him of the way his mother would wish him happy birthday in the morning as she came to wake him up in the morning, later in the day she’d sing-song it or yell it out cheerfully, she’d repeat it for each year he’d lived.

`Thanks. ´ Stiles whispers, feeling both happy and uncomfortable with the attention.

`Once I’m out of here, ´ Peter says in a promise after they’d finished their coffees and cupcakes, `I’m going to get you the best present possible. ´

`You really don’t have too. ´ Stiles is quick to say, because Peter really doesn’t have to get him anything, but he knows from just one look at the werewolf that Peter would do whatever he wanted once he was deemed able to start living independently. The thought of Peter leaving, of never getting to visit Peter again, causes Stiles to feel horrible with sadness and guilt; he knew it was selfish for him to not want to lose Peter, even if losing Peter wouldn’t be the same as losing Larissa, but it would still be a loss since Peter wouldn’t need him anymore.

`Stiles? Stiles, what’s wrong? ´ and Peter sounds genuinely worried which only makes Stiles feel worse, because Peter’s a good guy and deserves a chance at life.

Turning around to rearrange the framed pictures of Peter’s family, pictures Stiles had found while investigating the Hale’s and the fire, some were copied from newspapers and but there were a few he’d found in the ruins of the Hale house. Stiles had made his way to the Hale house last-summer when he’d become convinced that there was something off about the Hale fire, and after Peter had confirmed this, Stiles had dived right into the Hale-fire investigation and so a trip to the house had been a must; Stiles had visited the house several times that summer, bringing back books and pictures, trinkets and other things he imagined Peter might like to have rescued from the ruins before everything was lost.

`Nothing. ´ Stiles responds, lies, and he knows Peter can tell he’s lying because Peter always knows. Stiles hears the wheels of the wheelchair begin to move across the floor, closing the distance between them.

`Stiles, what’s wrong? ´ he hears Peter question from behind him, `Tell me, what’s wrong? ´

`It’s really nothing. ´ Stiles insists, but as Peter isn’t having any of it.

`Don’t lie to me, Stiles. Not to me. ´ Peter growls which makes the otter-side of him want nothing more than run and hide, but Stiles rarely listens to the fearful creature; most of the time the instincts of the otter just annoys him, angers him, as does the fact that it makes him ungraceful in his movements on land; according to his mother his grandfather had been clumsy too on land, and according to the journals of his grandfather which he’d written for possible were-otter grandchildren being ungraceful, clumsy and slow, was perfectly normal for their kind.

` You really think you’ll want to see me again once you leave this place. ´ Stiles whispers, tears threatening to fall at the thought of losing Peter’s comforting presence in his life, `Why would you stay here, in Beacon Hills, when you could go searching for your pack and family…´

There are suddenly two arms wrapped around his middle and Stiles is pulled up and into Peter’s lap, and as Peter presses his forehead against the space between Stiles shoulder-blades, Peter says with a degree of seriousness, and with a hint of promise, `Of course I’ll want to see you. Everyday if possible. ´ and Stiles heart might stop for a moment as it swells with hope.

`You are my pack now, Stiles. I don’t need to go searching for pack, when I’ve already found it in you. ´

**Author's Note:**

> just to make sure everyone knows this, Stiles grandfather, Claudia’s father was a wereotter and the last of his family, Claudia’s mtoher was human and so was Claudia, but Stiles inherited more than just the name of his grandfather and his nose. Wereotters aren’t exactly graceful creatures on land, and do not posses the same awesome powers of werewolves, there’s no super healing but catching a cold doesn’t happen easily for someone like Stiles. He’s got a good sense of smell, but his sense of hearing isn’t that of a werewolf and neither is his eyesight, but he does have retractable claws that are sharp, and his whiskers are really sensative like he can sense the smallest breeze and change in temperature. Oh and the bite force he has is wicked, his teeth might not be as sharp and dangerous as a werewolf but the force of his bite is enough to break bones. Now even in human form Stiles is at his best in the water, he can dive long and deep, he can swim fast and long without suffering from exhaustion or breathlessness. 
> 
> With Peter awake and able to communicate once more, Stiles convinces Peter to talk to his dad about what happened that night when the Hale fire happened, and so Kate Argent and her fellow dickbags finally get what they deserve. Once Derek and Laura hear about Peter being awake and that Kate Argent has been arrested, they head to Beacon Hills ready to reunite with their uncle and packmate, but when they come knocking on Peter’s door they find their uncle but not a packmate because they aren’t Peter’s pack anymore. 
> 
> Stiles is Peter’s pack now, and the only pack Peter needs.


End file.
